


You Can't Bury My Love

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Community: tw_holidays, Confessions, Hospitals, Love Confessions, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Temporary Amnesia, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles nearly dies, Derek refuses to leave his side in the hospital, unwilling to risk losing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Bury My Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writtenwords_and_constellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenwords_and_constellations/gifts).



> Thank you, dear recipient, for this prompt. I hope this story makes you smile!! I had great fun writing it.
> 
> As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf. I just like to play here.

There is a moment when Derek thinks that they’re winning.

Scott and Isaac fight in perfect synchronization while Allison stands to one side and fires arrows into the fray with unerring accuracy. Lydia stands near her, breathing hard, but she hasn’t started to scream, her hands twisted into fists by her side. Cora is angry and vicious, protecting Stiles who is working to set up a barrier.

“I’ve almost got it,” Stiles says. Sweat beads on his forehead, and Derek can’t look more closely than that, not with the witch in front of him speaking words he doesn’t understand.

The pack _barely_ outnumbers the coven, but they thought it wouldn’t matter. They thought they could take them out easily until they learned that _witch_ and _druid_ weren’t the same thing at all, and things like mountain ash circles were mostly meaningless against an opponent who could tangle them in the roots of trees and drag them down.

He slices at the slithering roots that try to grab at him, sees the way Lydia practically glares the branches down, the way Allison vaults over some on her way to grabbing a witch and dragging her to the ground.

Then Derek doesn’t have time to look anymore, doesn’t have time for anything other than fighting the witch who is right there in front of him and taking advantage of the way one of his arms is pinned to his side, trapped by a vine wrapped around his center.

When the dust clears, the five witches are dead.

That’s when Lydia starts to scream.

Derek feels his heart stop, even though he _knows_ it could be the witches. He _knows_ she might scream their souls straight to hell, but he’s been told that’s not how it works. Deaths that are deserved never call the banshee out; it’s when an innocent soul passes that she sings her unique song.

He counts his pack: Allison and Scott on the ground, him blotting at blood on her head; Isaac looking around just as wildly, Cora with her nose lifted to the air. Lydia, screaming.

“Here!” Cora yells, dropping to the ground, claws punching through dirt.

Derek inhales roughly and he knows what she means. Stiles is missing and he is _buried_ beneath that ground.

Lydia screams for Stiles, tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes, the sound going on and on, hurting Derek’s sensitive ears. But he can’t think about it, can’t tune it out as he and Isaac join Cora digging into the dirt, packed surprisingly hard in the wake of Stiles’s passing through. It shudders beneath them, rocking and rolling, pitching them backwards before it explodes out, showering them in dirt.

Sound fades and vision clears.

Stiles lies in the center of the crater, unmoving.

Derek reaches him first, claws withdrawn as he searches for the feel of breath. When nothing comes, he tilts Stiles head, clears his airway and lowers his mouth, breathing urgently, carefully, repeating each breath and giving him a moment to try to breathe on his own. It seems to take forever before there is a small cough and the low rasp of sound and Stiles’s chest moves.

“Dude.” Scott is there by his side, reaching for Stiles, but Derek growls, sliding his hands under the slack body, lifting him himself.

“Call Melissa and the sheriff,” he growls as he slides Stiles into the back of the Toyota. He tosses the keys to Cora, not happy with the idea of her driving but unwilling to leave Stiles alone in the back seat. The pack will follow when they can, right now he needs to get Stiles to the hospital.

That was too close; he won’t risk losing him completely.

#

"Visiting hours are over." Melissa's voice is soft, carefully gentle as she sets her hand on Derek's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but you need to go. Only immediate family can stay."

Derek growls without thinking, but Melissa doesn't flinch. He tightens his hand around Stiles’s fingers, not wanting to let go. There's this thought in his head that if he lets go, if he leaves, that Stiles won't be here when he comes back and he can't handle that.

"Melissa." The sheriffs voice is low. "Let the boy stay. Pack is about as close to immediate family as you get."

“I won’t let the entire pack in here,” Melissa tells him. “Scott’s anxious, and Lydia’s beside herself. I can’t—”

“Just Derek,” the sheriff says firmly. “He can be here when I’m not. I’m only human, I’m going to need some sleep and some food.”

“So will he.”

Derek can feel the way they are looking at him, can hear the worried skip of their hearts. “I’ll be fine,” he grumbles. “Go home, get some sleep. Come back when you’ve rested.”

Melissa hesitates, but when they move, she leaves first. Derek hunches forward, cradling Stiles’s hand in both of his, bowing his head to touch Stiles’s fingers.

“He’s going to be okay, son,” the sheriff says quietly. His hand is cool against the nape of Derek’s neck, light and careful. “He’s got you anchoring him here. I don’t think he’s going to go anywhere.”

Derek wants to believe him. He wants to _believe_ , but he can’t. It’s not that simple, not when he’s already managed to get so many things wrong in his life. He makes a noise, and the sheriff seems to take that as agreement. He pats Derek’s shoulder and the click of the door when he leaves sounds loud to Derek’s ears.

He’s alone with Stiles for the first time since the witches came to town, perhaps for the first time in months. Derek can’t remember every moment, but he’s sure it’s never been quite like this.

Stiles isn’t normally so quiet.

He presses his forehead to their joined fingers and sucks in a ragged breath. “You stupid _idiot_ ,” he mutters. “You think you’re immortal, but you’re not. You’re _human_. And you _say_ that. You point out that you’re weaker than we are, that you’re just a shell of weak flesh and fragile bones and you remind us that you’re breakable, but you don’t actually _believe_ it. When push comes to shove, you’re right in the middle of all the crap and letting them try to drown you in dirt.”

Derek shakes his head. “You think you’re not worth anything in this pack. But if you…” His voice gutters out, his eyes pinching tightly closed. “Fuck.” The word slips out on an exhalation. “I’m not going to lose you too, Stiles. I _cant_. You’re pack. You’re…” He can’t put it into words, can’t manage to say it out loud.

The thought of losing Stiles twists in his gut, puts a knife in his heart. His breath shudders when he breathes. “Don’t go,” he tells him softly. “Just… don’t go.”

#

It takes two days before they manage to convince Derek to leave Stiles’s side. It takes both Scott and the sheriff working together to assure him that they won’t leave, that they’ll make sure everything’s fine. When he goes, it isn’t for long. He hurries back to the small place he’s rented, showers, changes. His stomach rumbles and he decides that he can take long enough to heat something up to eat, something better than hospital food.

He’s halfway through eating when his phone buzzes with a text from Scott.

 _We’ve got a problem_.

He leaves the plate on the table, just walks out as he shrugs into his jacket. He’s halfway to the car, typing as he walks, pressing send on the way. _What? What happened?_

The text comes back just before he starts to drive, and his body goes cold.

 _Stiles doesn’t remember us_.

The hospital staff move aside as Derek rushes through, pushing his way into the ICU and bursting into the room where the sheriff sits in a chair to the side, and Scott is in the one Derek had pulled up close to the bed. Stiles is awake and sitting up, the television remote in his hand as he flips channels with an intent expression.

Stiles cocks his head when Derek stands there in the doorway. “Hi?” The word is a question, his expression confused.

“You don’t know me.” It isn’t a question, and Derek feels the weight of the way Stiles shakes his head down to his feet. He almost doesn’t register the hand on his shoulder, the way the sheriff guides him to sit down. But it’s a good thing he does as Derek’s legs go weak and he settles into the chair with a thunk.

“Should I? I mean, this guy here is telling me we’re best friends, but he’s also telling me that we’ve known each other forever and he somehow hasn’t seen _Star Wars_.” Stiles shakes his head. “I have a tough time believing that I’d let someone go that long without seeing _Star Wars_.” He presses the button on the remote and the TV clicks off. “Daytime television bites. Someone want to tell me what I’m doing in the hospital?”

“We hadn’t gotten that far,” Scott says quietly. “It’s a bit complicated, figuring out how without…” He shrugs instead of finishing the sentence.

“You remember _Star Wars_ , but you don’t remember Scott?” Derek is trying to wrap his head around this. “Or me? Cora? Lydia?”

“Girlfriends?” Stiles asks hopefully. “Not you. You are obviously all male, and probably straight on top of that, so…” he spreads his hands. “But one of the others, maybe we’re—”

“Cora’s my sister.” Derek tries not to growl and fails. He sees Stiles’s eyes go wide at the sound. “Lydia’s one of your best friends. She’s not dating anyone right now.”

“Oh. Huh.”

Derek reminds himself that he can’t be jealous of phantoms. He can’t think about any of it right now, not when Stiles has no idea what’s going on, and Scott is looking at him like he can somehow solve this. “You’re the alpha now, remember?” Derek mutters, and Scott’s eyes flash briefly in irritation.

“Why don’t you boys go talk for a bit, and I’ll do my best to catch Stiles up on some of the basics.” The sheriff nudges them both towards the door.

As soon as the door closes, Scott shakes his head. “I don’t know what to do. I called Deaton, and he said there’s no magical amnesia and besides, he was here and examined Stiles for residual magic. You were here when he did it, and Stiles should be fine. He should be _fine_.”

“But he doesn’t remember anything.” Derek doesn’t know what to do with that. “He could just… walk away.”

“He won’t,” Scott says firmly. “Do you really think Stiles would do that to us?”

“He doesn’t know who _we_ are,” Derek points out with another low growl. “He has _no idea_ what’s going on, and why should he care about a couple of strangers? All he wanted to know was whether he’s dating my _sister_.”

Scott’s eyes are wide. “Whoa. Dude. Calm down. It’s probably just temporary. Because he stopped breathing. They’re amazed he’s as awake as he is right now, and they said the next time he sleeps it could be another sixteen hours.”

“I’m staying,” Derek says, and it’s an order. It doesn’t matter that Scott’s the alpha; Derek is not being pushed out again.

“I get it.” Scott’s expression is gentle, and Derek bares teeth when he sees it, not wanting to show weakness. Scott doesn’t _get it_. He doesn’t actually _know_. “I’m going to go get my XBox, okay? You stay here. It’ll give him something to do anyway, and if he remembers _Star Wars_ , he probably also remembers how to play _Call of Duty_.”

Scott heads down the hall, pausing to talk to Melissa on his way out. They both glance back at Derek, and he looks away quickly, ducking back into the room.

“So, hey, I’m Stiles,” Stiles greets him. “Which you probably already know, and you must know my dad.”

“Derek,” he manages to say.

“Yeah, Dad says not to pay attention when you growl. Because _dude_ , that was just… damn.” Stiles shakes his head. “I feel like that’s the sort of thing I shouldn’t forget.”

“Ts’okay.” Even if it’s not. Derek hates the idea that Stiles could forget him that easily. “Scott went to get you some games.”

“Oh, hey, good.” Stiles rubs at his eyes, pushing at the place where the IV slips under his skin. “Do you think they’d let me eat real food now that I’m conscious? Maybe?”

Derek can’t stand this, feeling like a stranger in the room. He pushes to his feet, chair scraping. “I’ll go find out.” He’ll figure out how to deal with it by the time he gets back.

It was almost easier when Stiles was unconscious. At least he was still _Stiles_ then, not this blanked clone with Stiles’s face and enthusiasm, and not a clue about the world around him.

#

They let Derek stay when Stiles sleeps. Stiles is tired, and when they ask he just waves a hand at the chair and says _whatever_ like it doesn’t matter. Derek waits until he’s asleep, then settles back into the chair by the bed, while the sheriff slumps in the one closer to the door.

“Call me John,” the sheriff says after a few moments of silence. “It’s not like you’re a kid. None of you are kids anymore.”

Derek shakes his head. “I haven’t been a kid for a long time. The fire took care of that.”

“I know, son.”

It’s funny how he feels when the sheriff says that, like he actually _cares_. It’s a nice fantasy, the idea of being able to let someone else be in charge. All Derek wants to do is live his life right now, and with Scott as the alpha, he’s almost been able to do it. Except as the oldest of the wolves, Scott still looks up to him. Expects more of him. And Derek can’t help but try to be that role model that Scott is looking for.

“He has a chance to stop all of this,” Derek says quietly. “To get out. I can’t… I can’t just let him start up again. But Scott needs him. We all do.” _Derek_ needs him, but he can’t say that in front of the sheriff. “As long as he doesn’t remember, isn’t it cruel to tell him what he’s involved in? You’ve got a chance to have a normal life with him now.”

“Do you really think he’d want that?” The sheriff— _John_ —stands behind him, both hands on his shoulders. “You know Stiles. He’d be disappointed to be left out.”

“Don’t you want him safe?” Because Derek does. He wants to know that Stiles isn’t going to get himself killed. “He has a chance to get away from it all.”

“I don’t think that’s possible in Beacon Hills. Not the way it attracts trouble, and not the way _Stiles_ attracts trouble.” John pats Derek’s shoulders. “Try to get some sleep, if you’re staying here. You’re no use to anyone if you don’t stay healthy yourself.”

“Are you leaving?” Derek twists around, but by the time he looks, John’s already at the door.

“I’m too old for sleeping in hospital chairs, and I know he’s safe.” John gives Derek a look, and it tangles up around his heart, that trust that he can see. John nods, and Derek tilts his head in return, a solemn acknowledgement that he’s here to guard Stiles.

Not that anyone would come attack him, not now. But someone should be here. Just in case.

He takes Stiles’s hand carefully once they are alone, threading their fingers together, covering their linked hands with his other. “You don’t remember a damned thing,” he mutters. “So I guess…” He snorts. “It can’t hurt, anyway.”

So Derek gives him their history. He goes back to the beginning, and since Stiles is asleep, he doesn’t leave anything out. He talks until he’s hoarse, until he has to get up and go get a drink and piss and get a snack from the vending machines, then he comes back and starts talking all over again. It takes time to go through two years of their infuriating relationship, time to get to the point where they end up _here_ , during the summer after Stiles and Scott have graduated from high school.

He laughs dryly at the end. “You’re supposed to go away to school in a couple of months. That’s it, that’s the end of the story. Because you’ll leave, and you won’t come back, and I’ll still be here, because where the hell else am I going to go? I could go back to New York, but this is home. It’s _home_ again, and it’s…” His voice drops low. “That’s your fault, Stiles. I tried to leave, and I came back, and now it’s your turn, and that won’t happen. You don’t remember any of this, and you’ll go away and that’ll be it. You’ll be done with werewolves, except for Scott, and magic, and you’ll stay in contact with Lydia and Scott and that’s it. You’ll walk away from all of it, and it won’t even matter to you.”

It’s easier here in the dark, easier when he knows that Stiles has no idea who he is, no idea what’s come between them in the past. Derek swallows hard, and says quietly, “I’ll miss you when you go.” There’s a small pause before he adds, even quieter than before. “I miss you now. It’s like you’re already gone.”

#

Derek wakes to the feeling of fingers lightly carding through his hair. His breathing hitches, and the touch stops. Withdraws. Derek waits a moment before he moves, pulling back and stretching to undo the kinks in his muscles.

“You slept here,” Stiles says.

“Your dad needed to go home and get some rest.” It’s as good an explanation as any, and at least half true. “How’re you doing this morning?” Derek tries to catch his scent, but there’s no actual sickness. Just a horrible rasp to his breath and the acrid odor of a body that hasn’t bathed properly in days.

“According to the invasion force of six nurses and three doctors that you just managed to sleep through, I’m relatively healthy, likely to be susceptible to respiratory infections for the rest of my life, and lucky to have a partner like you.” Stiles gives him a curious look. “Are we?”

“Are we what?” Derek is stuck on those words, trying to think back through his dreams and sifting through to see if he had _any_ awareness that someone came in while he slept.

“Partners.” Stiles says the word boldly. “I had this weird dream about you.”

Derek swallows. “We’re not partners. Not like that.” He hesitates, because without telling Stiles everything all over again while he’s awake, there is no way to make it make sense. “It’s complicated. You annoy me, and I tolerate it,” he says, because that’s one part of the truth.

“Huh.” Stiles pushes himself up, and Derek realizes that the IV has been disconnected. The needle is still taped in Stiles’s hand, flat and available if needed, but it’s not connected. “I dreamed about you and this woman. Dark hair. It was all twisted up in my head, like she was this teacher, but she was a monster, and you dated her.” He shakes his head. “Dude, you have terrible taste in women in my dreams. I hated her. Dream me wanted to strangle her every time I saw you get this stupid look in your eyes around her. It was like you melted.”

“I take it dream you wasn’t concerned with my happiness,” Derek says dryly, even though he knows what Stiles is talking about. Derek wants to strangle himself for what happened, for _trusting_ Jennifer Blake. He blames the magic, and his body crawls when he remembers her.

He hasn’t trusted anyone in the year and a half since then, not like that. He’d barely considered trusting someone, but he couldn’t make that leap.

They all use him, or they go away.

“Dream me wanted to jump your bones,” Stiles admits. “Sorry, just being truthful here. I hope you’re not offended.”

“No,” Derek says tightly. “I’m not.”

He wants to ask _what about the real you_ but he won’t.

Stiles turns away, leveraging his legs out of the bed, dangling over the edge. The hospital gown gaps open and Derek looks away quickly. “They said I could shower if I want. Will you be here when I get out?”

Derek nods, then realizes Stiles can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“Good. Don’t eat my breakfast when it comes. They said it’s pancakes.” He can hear the grin in Stiles’s voice. “I love pancakes.”

“You remember pancakes, but not anything else.”

“Pancakes and _Star Wars_ ,” Stiles reminds him. “I guess the things I love most just stuck with me.”

If Derek ever wanted a definitive answer, there it is, laid out neatly. He slumps back in the chair and tilts his head back, and waits. He’s not going to leave, not again.

#

The days fall into a pattern. The doctors won’t let Stiles leave until they’re sure he’s breathing more comfortably, but the rasp in his lungs stubbornly remains, despite applications of antibiotics. Derek wants to explain that it’s _dirt_ and _magic_ , not an infection, but he can’t get that across. And Stiles is patient, taking inhalers, doing everything they say in order to recuperate.

Visitors flow in during different times of the day. Cora bounces on the bed next to Stiles, playing cards and coaxing Derek into playing poker with them until she wins all the M&Ms and starts feeding them one by one to Stiles.

Stiles is absolutely charmed by her, and it grates on Derek’s nerves when she curls in close and they watch _The Big Bang Theory_ together.

Lydia is easier, the way she comes in and starts to say something, then purses her lips at the confused expression on Stiles’s face. She tries three times to bring in potential solutions, and leaves three times in frustration, no closer to an answer than she was before.

The third time she grabs Derek’s shoulder and pulls him close, hissing in his ear, “Do something.” She doesn’t give him the chance to say that he has absolutely no idea what to do.

Scott stays the longest, other than the sheriff or Derek himself. He and Stiles play games lazily, arguing the entire time, and Scott is patient when Stiles gets caught in a coughing fit and his character dies.

It’s Scott who stops by the apartment and grabs some of Derek’s clothes, bringing them to the small hospital room. Melissa doesn’t say a word when Derek uses the shower to clean up rather than leave. At night, when everyone else leaves, John always has the last word, clasping Derek’s shoulder and murmuring that everything will be all right.

Derek’s not sure whether he can believe him anymore.

The lights go out in the room and Stiles lies there in the bed, his breath low and even. He’s still awake tonight, gaining strength every day.

“Why do you stay?” Stiles asks quietly. “I mean, Scott’s my best friend, right? And I guess Lydia is… she’s something like that, too. And Cora’s cool, and we seem to have fun together, but what are you?”

“Just Derek.”

“I don’t need a father figure.”

“I’m not.” That’s the last position he needs to get himself put into. “I’m just… we’re friends. You mean something to me.” Derek tries to work around the words, taking comfort in the darkness. “We almost lost you, and the one time I left, we lost a part of you.”

“And you think that if you leave again, you’ll lose more?”

Derek looks over at Stiles to find him staring back, eyes bright despite the darkness. He feels his own eyes flash, recognizes the confusion when Stiles sees that sharp, bright blue for just a moment. He blinks and tries to pretend nothing happened. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “Something like that.”

It almost seems natural when Stiles reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together before he squeezes. “You don’t have to worry so much, big guy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Derek is glad that Stiles isn’t a werewolf, or he’d hear the way his heart rushes through the beats, tangled up in emotion and skipping too fast. He just nods in response and squeezes slightly back, then waits until Stiles’s breath eases, smoothing out into sleep.

“We’re more than friends,” Derek says quietly. “But you have no idea. You _had_ no idea, because I couldn’t tell you. And the stupidest thing about falling in love with you is that you didn’t want it, and now you’re not even _you_ and I still… I still need you. I don’t know what to do without you.”

Stiles murmurs softly, and Derek holds his breath, but he’s still asleep.

Derek lowers his head, resting it on the mattress, pillowed on his arm. It isn’t comfortable, but he’s getting used to it by now. It’s all he’s got, after all.

#

“Her name was Jennifer.”

Derek blinks awake quickly, the room still dark around them. He can hear people moving in the hospital; it never really sleeps, after all. But they are alone, and he’d guess it’s still before dawn. Stiles is breathing roughly, the rasp deep and heavy.

“You’re awake,” Stiles says. “I can tell. And her name was _Jennifer_. I mean, I dreamed about it again, and she’s Ms. Blake, too. She was my English teacher, and there were fucking _werewolves_ involved, and she… she hurt my dad. It’s not just a story, is it Derek? It’s not just a dream.”

It’s the middle of the night and Derek’s pulse is jumping like he’s just been attacked. He shakes his head quickly. “It’s not just a dream.”

“Tell me,” Stiles orders. “Tell me. And tell me why I keep dreaming about being buried alive, and why Lydia was babbling about math and equations and _magic_ like she thought I should be able to keep up. Tell me why these gorgeous girls like me, and why the hottest dude I have _ever_ seen is sleeping here like he can’t stand to leave.”

“I can’t lose you.”

There are so many other things he could say. So many things he _should_ say, but it’s still dark and a part of him can convince himself that Stiles is asleep and he’ll forget this conversation in the morning. He hears the soft huff of frustration, feels fingers slide through his hair.

“You _won’t_ ,” Stiles insists.

So Derek tells him again. All of it, from Scott’s bite to the coven they just fought. He listens to the small changes in Stiles’s pulse, and he waits for the questions, answering each one patiently. And at the end of the story, he pauses, and Stiles sits quietly, waiting.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Stiles finally asks.

Derek shakes his head. He didn’t leave anything out, not this time. He told Stiles about Kate, and about Jennifer. He even told Stiles about Paige because it has become a part of the story of the Nemeton, and the beacon of Beacon Hills. He places his hand over Stiles’s heart, feels the soft thump in response. “Nothing,” he says, because his own feelings don’t enter into it. “I’ve already told you more than you should know.”

“No, you haven’t.” Stiles covers his hand with his own, and he reaches up, pulling Derek down. The kiss is light, barely there, and more than Derek deserves.

When he opens his eyes, Stiles is somehow asleep again. Derek carefully tugs his hand free and moves to the chair by the door, stretching his long frame out and trying to find some comfort so he can doze again.

#

When Derek wakes into the light, the room is empty. He can hear the shower running and he stands up to stretch. There are papers on the bed, waiting for signatures. Derek sifts through them; Stiles is due to be released.

When Stiles comes out of the bathroom, he’s fully dressed, still tucking his shirt into his jeans. “God, it feels good to be wearing normal clothes.” He stretches and the shirt comes untucked immediately, riding up. “You were sleeping hard this morning.”

“You’re going home.”

Stiles grins. “Yeah. I called Dad this morning and told him you’d give me a ride home. He said to make sure I’m home by dinner. I figured we could swing by Lydia’s place first; I need to give her something. After that I want to talk to Deaton, then we can do whatever you want. I told Dad pizza would do. Plenty of meat for you, but he’s used to that from pack meetings.”

Derek inhales as if he could taste the words, as if they should taste different somehow. They are so easily said.

Stiles pats his chest. “You in shock, big guy? I’m putting myself in your hands for the day. I figured we could find something to do that isn’t sitting in a hospital room.”

“Stiles.” Derek wraps his hand around the one that touches him, holding Stiles before he can pull away.

Those amber eyes go wide and guileless. “What?”

Derek starts to growl and Stiles surges forward, meeting his mouth in a swift, awkward kiss. Derek isn’t sure what to do, catching Stiles’s shoulder, letting go of his hand so he can hold him there, balancing him until the kiss ends and Derek is left blinking at him.

“I have been in love with you since I was _sixteen_ ,” Stiles says firmly. “How the hell do you think I got over Lydia so fast? It wasn’t just that she and I got to be friends, it was _you_. But there you were, so far out of my league, and I was never going to have a _chance_. Then I wake up in the hospital this morning, and I remember _everything._ And I mean _everything_ , Derek. I know you didn’t give up on me. You were here every damned night, and you tried to help me remember, and I dreamed because I heard _your voice_. And you said… you said…” His voice hitches. “You said you loved me. And I thought maybe I was imagining it, but everything else… everything else was real. So how could I imagine that? And I have to take a chance. Right? You get that, don’t you? Because I _almost died_ , Derek. And I don’t want to die without seeing if you’ll say it to me when I’m awake. When I’m _right here_.”

By the time Stiles winds down, Derek is reeling, trying to assimilate everything he’s said. He starts with the simplest piece. The most important piece. “You’re back.” He touches his face, frames his cheek and feels the way Stiles leans into that touch. “You’re you.”

Stiles snorts. “I was always me. I just forgot a few things.”

Derek could ask him to repeat what he’s said. He could ask him to say the words again, or _Derek_ could say the words. But that feels impossible. Insurmountable. Instead he takes the easy way out, leaning forward to close the distance between them, capturing Stiles’s mouth and claiming it properly this time. He lingers in it, tasting Stiles for a long moment, loving the soft patter of his heart and the quick inhalation when they finally part.

“I’m not going to forget that,” Stiles says quietly. “Not for a long time.”

“Good.”

There will need to be words eventually. Words spoken when they’re both awake, when they can both remember. Words spoken after dark, perhaps, but also words spoken in the light of day. It will take time to get there, but Derek won’t let the chance slip away this time. He won’t lose Stiles.

He waits for Stiles to sign the paperwork, waits while the nurse checks it over.

When they walk out of the hospital together, Derek has his hand at the small of Stiles’s back, and he feels the way Stiles leans into him slightly. Stiles glances at him and grins, and Derek smirks in response.

It’ll take time, but they _have_ time.

Derek won’t let either of them forget again.


End file.
